Down the Rabbit Hole
by LookToYourLeft
Summary: From Charlie Bennett's observations, nothing ever happened in Devon. Everyday was like the last, everything and everyone was just so perfect, and Charlie just hated it. The counsellors had said it would be good for her and her 'anger issues' to be someplace peaceful. All was just so perfect... And then, of course, the Stairway to Hell came along... Follows LWW but no Mary Sue.


**Summary - From Charlie Bennett's observations, nothing ever happened in Devon. Everyday was like the last, everything and everyone was just so perfect, and Charlie just hated it. The counsellors had said it would be good for her and her 'anger issues' to be someplace peaceful. All was just so perfect... And then, of course, the Stairway to Hell came along…**

**Rating – T**

**Notes – OC but not a Mary Sue, AU within canon (if that makes sense).**

* * *

_"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that." – Albus Dumbledore, The Philosopher's Stone, Harry Potter Series, J.K. Rowling._

* * *

Charlie Bennett was not a happy hippo. She was a tired, bored, unhappy hippo. Well, to be honest with you, she wasn't a hippo in the first place, but I think you catch my drift. This is a story of how she concord that boredom and lack of sleep with evil snow-queens, weird literal-out-of-the-world lions, and an annoying little twit that just will not leave her head.

We begin our story in the 21st century (unless you were expecting a story set in 1940s wartime, in which case I can easily recommend an alternative), at some point in the summer of 2012, in a place known as Devon, in a cottage not too far from the beach, in an upstairs room, in a single bed, where the young girl in question lay.

As it was summer, it was stuffy and hot, and Charlie Bennett had long since kicked off the blankets. Her scrawny little body was lying on its side, and even though it was way past midnight, her red, puffy eyes were wide open, and whatever she did, she just couldn't close them.

Most children at the age of ten-and-a-half years old (shame on you if you ever forget the all important 'and a half') are asleep by this time of night, but not when you are one Charlie Bennett and currently living in a house surrounded by a flock of noisy seagulls, which didn't help on her quest for dreamland.

In an act of frustration, Charlie growled in despair, throwing her pillow at the shut window the seagulls had gathered around. The noises only got louder. Sighing loudly, grumbling under her breath what she would like to do to those seagulls, she swung her legs out of her itchy-covered bed and placed her bare feet onto the just-as-scratchy carpet.

She looked around the room, 'her' room. It was not aimed at a child of her age at all. It was old and musty; the walls painted a disgustingly dull yellow and the carpet a just-as-horrible brown. The furniture was old and near-broken, and she had tried to fix them countless times in the pass year, but it was so broken, the best she could manage was making sure it wasn't too unstable.

The pictures on the wall were boring; coffee shops and old pebbly beaches that you could just walk a mile or two down the road and be there in person. The air was dusty and cold, making Charlie shiver in the light of the full moon, which shone eerily through the thin, wearing, maroon curtains.

The place she was currently staying in, Devon, might have been nice. A seaside town that mostly consisted of old people enjoying a quiet life in the town that was seemingly frozen in time; tourists and families swarming in dutifully every year in the summer, so it was currently quite crowded. Children laughing, parents sunbathing, teenagers splashing in the water and the local residence smiling on in content.

Charlie hated it there.

She had tried to like it, she really did. When she had been sent here last year to live with her Great Aunt Agatha, she had tried. It was nice, perfectly so, with it's laughing children and it's smiling pensioners. And that was probably why she hated it.

Charlie got up out of bed, stretched, and made her way across to her near-broken chair, taking care to step on the floorboards that made the loudest creeks under her little weight, almost like she was competing with the seagulls on who could make the loudest noises. Slowly, not too fast so to not break it in half, she lowered herself into her near-broken desk chair.

On her desk lay an old photo album, worn and near-broken, with a gold inscription that declared in fancy, twirling writing 'Memories, never to be forgotten'. Charlotte looked down her near-broken most valuable item, and then glanced up at the clock she had repaired, ticking away merrily above her on the wall directly ahead of her.

0:42am – it read.

She had time, plenty of it, and maybe she'd be able to tire herself out with a trip down memory lane. So, with that decision made, without a thought to what she was going to do about school the next morning, she opened the album, to peak behind the near-broken front cover, and see what she knew lay on the thick, memory-filled first page…

* * *

"_She's beautiful, isn't she?"_

_A man with messy, sandy-brown hair tore his twinkling chocolate-brown eyes from the little, cooing baby in his arms to look at the smiling woman in the hospital bed to his right. This woman had light blonde hair, so light it was almost white, a pretty face, and blue-green eyes that seemed to sparkle with life, forever moving and changing, like the ocean. _

"_Oh, yes, beautiful is an understatement," she said, as she gazed at the baby in the man's arms, "She looks so much like you…including the hair," she glanced repeatedly from the baby's head to the man's; an air of amusement seemed to radiate from her. _

"_Of course, the hair…" The man grinned cheekily, running a hand through his uncontrollable locks, "Lucky little bugger, she's got your eyes though…but she's so…so tiny…how can something so small… be so perfect? Look at those hands…" The baby in his arms wrapped its whole hand around his little finger, making his grin widen, and a small chuckle escape his lips. _

"_You know, for a man who had his heart set on a son for nine months, you're quite smitten," The woman said, then smiled softly when she realised that the man hadn't heard her as he had gotten lost in the baby's eyes that were so much like her own. After a while, she looked at the baby for a long time and said, quietly, "…what should we call her?"_

_The man finally looked up. He stared at the beautiful woman on his right, staring at her, but he wasn't really staring at her. He eyes were pondering; his mind was elsewhere; he was truly considering the name that the baby in his arms would come to be known as. Then, as if she had an epiphany, the woman's eyes widen and she spoke, "Charlotte. Charlotte Marie Bennett."_

_The man looked sharply up at the woman, a calculating look on his face as he considered the name, "Charlotte Marie Bennett…" And slowly, a smile grew on his face, so big it was a wonder that his face hadn't split, "Marie, that's perfect…she's perfect…" The man looked down at the baby in his arms, the joyful grin never leaving his face. _

"_Yes. Yes, she is…"_

_A beat of silence, in which the two adults stared at the tiny bundle of blankets…and then…_

"_Charlie, my little tomboy, I'll make a warrior out of you yet!"_

"_David…"_

* * *

"_Mummy! Daddy!"_

_A small child ran into a homely, welcoming living room. The man and woman inside immediately stopped talking as their attention was given to the small child. This child looked awfully like the man, with messy sandy-brown hair and a face like a Roman statue, but when you looked into her eyes, they mirrored the greenish-blue eyes of the woman. _

"_Yes, sweetie?" The woman asked, a smile that was reserved only for the child on her face, as she pulled the girl onto her lap. _

"_Can I have a fixing set for my birthday?" The excitable child looked from the amused man to the woman holding her; a determined anticipation seemed to shine from her face. _

"_A fixing set?" The man's face broke out into a grin, but it held no malice, in fact it was a fond gaze as he looked at the child, "What's a fixing set, then?"_

"_You know," The little girl used her arms a lot while she talked, gesturing around to prove her point, "Hammers, spanners, drills..."_

"_Why?" The woman asked as the man exclaimed 'Oh, a tool kit!', her smile widening, but the expression on her face showed that she already knew what was coming._

"_Well, I need to practice, don't I?" The child had a 'isn't it obvious' look on her face, glancing to at the man and then back at the woman, "If I'm going to be the Queen's Fixer one day, then I need to be good!"_

_The man and woman exchanged smiles. The little girl had been obsessed with building and fixing things since the moment she was old enough to take something apart. Taking apart her toys to see how they worked, never able to put them back together again but the fact that she had a thirst for knowledge was enough to make the man and woman smile. _

_The small child planned to work for the Queen one day, to fix things around Buckingham Palace and invent new ways to do stuff. She hated it when things were broken, trying desperately to repair broken things around the house, but more often than not she just made it worse. Her spirits were never dampened though, and she was determined to one day become, what she called 'The Queen's Fixer'. _

"_Charlotte, those things can be dangerous, you know," The woman reminded the little girl softly. The child gave a small smile when the woman said her name; the woman was the only person she ever let say it. The woman started again, a hint of amusement in her voice, "And you are a little young to be working with such things…"_

"_I'm four!" The little girl exclaimed indignantly, crossing her arms in defiance, then added as if it made all the difference, "And a half!"_

"_Don't worry, Charlie-Bear, we're not questioning the fact that you're a big girl, clever as anything you are, but you've got to admit," The man laughed, reaching over to tickle the girl's side, "You're tiny! I doubt you'd be able to work the drill, would you?" _

"_Would so!"_

"_Would not!"_

"_Would so!"_

"_Would not!"_

"_Daddy…"_

"_Charlie…"_

"_You - "_

"_Both of you, enough!" exclaimed the woman, laughing at their antics. She turned from the grinning man to the pouting child in her arms, "Maybe when you're older, sweetheart, we'll get you a fixing set, but for now practice without it. We can't have you getting hurt, can we?"_

_The girl nodded, still pouting and grumbling under her breath, but she never liked to disappoint the woman so she didn't protest. Still, she couldn't help but wonder, she wasn't that small, was she? The child was brought out of her pondering by the man's voice._

"_Besides, you're a right little trouble-magnet. I dread to think what you could do with a drill!"_

"_Daddy!"_

_The woman watched their bickering with an amused smile. The little girl would go far, she just knew it. She had the potential to become a fixer, the determination to go through with it, and (if the bickering between her and the man symbolised anything) the ability to put up a fight. _

_The woman's smile widened. Oh yes, her girl would become the Queen's Fixer, whether the Queen liked it or not…_

* * *

"_Dad?"_

"_Yes, Charlie-Bear?"_

"_Why is Mum sick all the time?" _

_The man looked down at the girl that looked so much like him, sitting on the plastic seat next to his in the hospital waiting room. Her legs were crossed, and she was fiddling with a small toy in her hands, taking it apart and putting the complex bolts and springs back together again without a conscious thought, like it was a nervous habit. _

_She had grown, that was for sure, not as much in her size as much as her ability to build and fix. She never did give up on asking for a 'fixing set', but every birthday when the man and woman said she was still too young, she'd work on fixing with her hands for the next year. Her progress was quite remarkable; she could take all her toys apart and put them back together again with ease, and could fix the small electrics in the house. _

_She was a natural, and considering she had taught herself what she knew, it was quite astounding. _

"_Mum's got an illness, darling, she's very poorly," The tired man ran a hand through his hair, which had become grey-streaked in the past year alone._

"_Yes, but why isn't she getting better? That's what the hospital is for, isn't it? To make people better. If that's true, then why isn't she?" The young girl looked up into the man's eyes, the determination and defiance that never seemed to leave her becoming more prominent. _

_The man looked down at the girl in sorrow. His child was a clever one, and he wouldn't be able to explain away this without her finding some loophole to the lie. And anyway, she didn't deserve to be lied too, especially not about this. Never about this. He just had to grit his teeth and say it, no matter how much he dreaded the look on the girl's face when she heard…_

"_Charlie, Mum is not going to get better, no matter how hard they try," The man could have kicked himself. That was not how to break to a child, his child, this kind of news. Never this kind. The man watched as the girl's eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to say something, but she never got to say it._

"_You can come now, but don't be to excitable around her, she need quiet," A Doctor popped his head around the door they were waiting outside of and spoke to them. Wasting no time in getting up, the man and girl walked quickly into the room, and what they saw was a sight they were used too, but that didn't make it any easier. _

_The woman lay there on a white hospital bed in white hospital robes; a pile of pillows propped up her body, and there was a drip attached to her arm. She looked exhausted, her ocean-like eyes were quickly losing their life but they seemed to brighten when she saw who was coming to visit her. _

"_Mum," The young girl whispered, and she hurried over to the woman's side. She clambered up onto the bed next to her, and leaned on the pillow carefully so not to jolt the woman. The woman looked down at the cautious girl and smiled, a weary smile but a smile none the less, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. _

"_How's my baby girl?" The woman whispered to the child, and in answer she got a forced smile as the girl settled into the woman's side. _

"_Marie," The tired yet so sad voice from her other side notified the man's presence. The woman looked up at the man with eyes as sad as his. They both knew what was going to happen, but that didn't make it a more bearable thought. _

"_David," The woman replied as the man leant down to kiss her forehead like he used to when they were young. Those two words, that one action…they said more than most would ever be able to imagine. _

_They talked for a while, about unimportant things, but the heaviness in the air told everyone that not one of them had forgotten that they were in a hospital. Eventually, the man and woman exchanged significant looks and they turn in unison to the young girl. _

"_Charlotte," said the woman, softly, as the man brought what looked like a present out of his bag, with a big bow on top, "Baby, we've gotten you something. And we know you'll like it because you've wanted it for a long time."_

"_But," The girl looked at the two adults with a confused frown, "It isn't my birthday. I'm still seven," she paused, then added, "And a half!"_

"_That may be so," the man chuckled, "But we said that once you were old enough, we'd get you it. Your mother and I thought it was about time; you've waited long enough."_

_Hardly daring to believe what she was thinking, the girl reached over and took the box in her hands. Fingers trembling, she slowly started to unwrap the present. When she finally managed it, she gasped and tears sprang from nowhere and into her eyes. _

_On her lap lay a beautiful, perfect, new 'fixing set'. Smaller than the usual sizes, the equipment was perfect for someone her age, and the metal was sliver, shiny and new; the handles were bright blue. There was a small hammer, a spanner, screws and bolts, string, scissors and a whole load of other useful items she could use for fixing, and even if the set was mysteriously lacking a drill, a small screwdriver more than made up for it. _

"_Thank you," The girl managed to choke out, and for a short while they all forgot that they were in a hospital. _

_All good things must come to an end, however, that they found out when the Doctor came back into the room to tell then that it was time for the girl and man to leave. After a few goodbyes, kisses and more than a couple sad smiles, the man and girl left the room, hand in hand. They were halfway down the corridor when the girl stopped, and turned back to the Doctor that was still standing by the door. _

"_My Mummy's going to die, isn't she?"_

_Ignoring the gasp at her side, the girl stared steadily into the Doctor's dark eyes, and the Doctor, though surprised, replied sadly, "She still has a few years, you know, there is still time…"_

"_But she is going to, though."_

_A pause, and then…_

"_Yes."_

_The girl nodded and turned her back on the Doctor, carried on walking down the corridor with the man. Only he noticed the tears falling silently down her cheeks._

* * *

_A few predicted years quickly turned into a few predicted months; a few predicted months quickly turned into a few predicted weeks; a few predicted weeks quickly turned into a few predicted days. A few predicted days later found the young girl dressed in all black, standing in a cemetery in front of a particular grave._

Marie Josephine Bennett

1971 – 2009

Loving wife, loving daughter, loving sister, loving mother

She will be dearly missed

_Many people had tried to get her to move, but she just wouldn't budge, refusing to even look at the people trying to shift her, never taking her eyes off of the words that would forever be etched into her brain. She didn't know how long she stood there, it could have been seconds, minutes, hours, days, even years, but what she did know was that soon enough there was a hand on her shoulder. _

"_She was a good woman," said a deep, slow voice to her right, one that the girl immediately recognised as the priest's, "She was suffering, she's in a better place now."_

Then why couldn't she have gotten better and stayed here?

_The young girl didn't speak._

"_She will always be watching over you, the ones that love us never truly leave us, you know."_

Then why couldn't she be watching me from the ground, not above, and why isn't she here if she never left?

_The young girl didn't speak._

"_Come now, your father needs you, he's waiting for you."_

Then he can bloody well wait some more because I'm not moving.

_The young girl didn't speak._

"_Come along, Charlotte."_

'How's my little Charlotte then'…'Charlotte, don't touch that, it's dangerous'…'Sweet dreams, Charlotte, you sleep peacefully now'… 'Charlotte, don't worry, I'm not going to leave you'…'I'm here, Charlotte, I'm always going to be here'…

But you're not here if you're gone. And Charlotte can't fix this. So Charlotte is gone too, and Charlie is all that's left…

_The young girl spoke, her voice trembling, her fisted clenched in unexpected fury, "Don't call me Charlotte."_

* * *

"Thank you for coming in, Mr Bennett…again."

"That's okay, what has she done this time?"

"_I haven't done anything, she's-"_

"Charlie, let Mrs Quinn finish."

"Thank you, Mr Bennett. Now, as you know, there is a large clock in the centre of the hall we hold gatherings in. Lately, it has been faulty, but nobody has had time to repair it. Earlier today, I found your daughter in the centre of the hall when she was supposed to be in class, with a tool kit, surrounded by nuts, springs and bolts, not the mention the face and body of the clock."

"_I was fixing it, you don't know what I was – "_

"Quiet, please, Miss Bennett!"

"Look, I'm sorry, I'll pay for the clock, I prom – "

"There's no need, Mr Bennett, that is not what I called you in for."

"_What?"_

"Really?"

"As you know, this is the fourth time this term I've called you into my office because of such behaviour. She has grown rebellious and doesn't usually do what teachers tell her too, especially female teachers. She never acted like this, this time last year, and we think we know the reason."

"Oh?"

"We think this may be her way of coping. She has snuck out of class more times than I can count, and we always find her trying to fix one faulty item or another. She still is quite young to deal with grief, only eight – "

"_And a half!"_

" – years old. We thought maybe seeing the school counsellor, to learn to talk about your loss without lashing out, and to let others say her name without – "

"_No! No, I'm not mad! I don't need help! I'm doing fine on my own, I can fix it, I can! Dad, you're not going to let her – "_

"Miss Bennett, it will help you, trust me I know how it feels to –"

"_No! No, you don't know how it feels! You have no idea!"_

"Please, Charlotte, I –"

"_Don't call me Charlotte! Stop trying to act like you know what's best for me!"_

"Charlie, calm – "

"_You're not my Mum!"_

"Look, we'll think about it, but maybe we should go now…"

"Of course, Mr Bennett. I'll see you on Monday, Charl…Miss Bennett."

"Goodbye, Mrs Quinn."

"…"

"…"

"…"

"_Dad, you can't seriously be thinking about –"_

"Look Charlie, what do you what me to do, you're not being very cooperative right now. Taking apart the school clock? I though the Staff Room television was going to be it, but now –"

"_But, I'm not crazy! Counsellors are for crazy people! You can't send me there, you just can't!"_

"Charlie, I don't know what to do. I haven't known for a very long time. But I think that maybe talking about this with someone other than me might do you some good…"

"_But, I'm not a mental person! I can fix this on my own!"_

"…You can't fix everything, Charlie…"

"…_I can try."_

* * *

"_Dad, why do you have to go? Why do I have to go, as a matter of fact," The young girl whispered, as she looked as upon the man, who was dress in an army uniform. _

"_Look, Charlie-Bear, I've always been in the Army, you know why I have to go. It's my job. And the counsellors said that it would do you good to live with Aunt Agatha. It's quiet and peaceful in Devon, lots of kids to play with in the summer, you'll love it, trust me," The man replied, as he drove past the little seaside cottages of Devon, like in a fairytale. _

_He and the girl had been driving for hours, and he would have to go straight to the airport as after he'd dropped the girl off at his Aunt's house, where she would be staying until September the next year. The young girl bit her lip, and fiddled with the nuts and bolts in her hands, making things then destroying them, only to rebuild them again seconds after. _

_The girl had become skilled in making and repairing things, due to a mixture of practice and natural talent, and always carried around springs, pipe cleaners, stuff like that in her pockets, to make things with when she got nervous or bored. _

_It was true; her counsellors did say that living in Devon might help, due to the fact that little went on around there. She had already had been improving on the 'coping' business. She didn't immediately blow up on anyone who mentioned 'her loss', but she did get a bit snappy when the conversation went on longer than a minute, and she never brought it up herself. _

_The girl had also gotten better at people using her name. Well, people knowing her name, that is. People still weren't allowed to use her real name, only her nickname, but still it had improved. At least she didn't physically attack anyone who dared say her name…at least, not the first time they did it. _

_They were also right about the 'living in Devon with your Great Aunt' operation. Technically, a bit of peace and quiet would help for most people, a little time at the seaside …meeting people who didn't know who she was… or what issues she had yet… It made sense, the girl understood. _

_That didn't mean she had to like it. _

_The car pulled over to park in front of a cottage like any other, small and fairytale-like, windows thrown wide open to let the sea breeze waft into the rooms that lay beyond. An old woman stood by the front door, white hair flecked with ginger, a wrinkled face and stood not that much taller than the girl, which was saying something because the girl was not known for her height. _

"_Hello, dears," The old woman said, her twinkling brown eyes that were just like the man's looking from one to the other, "It's nice to finally meet you, dear," she said to the girl, who was standing awkwardly beside the man, holding her suitcase in one hand, the man's arm in the other, "Bring your stuff in here then, you're going to be here for a while, aren't you?"_

_After unpacking in the spare room of the small cottage, which smelled like it had been housing a family of cats before her, the girl went back down to the kitchen, where the old woman and the man were talking over a cup of tea. They both looked up as she walked in, and she forced a smile at the unexpected attention, while going to stand close to the man. _

"_Now, dear," The old woman seemed to twinkle at her, and the girl couldn't help but notice that she said the word 'dear' a lot, "You've been awfully quiet. There's no need to be shy. After all, we're going to be spending a lot of time together in the next year, aren't we? What's your name?"_

_The girl was surprised that she didn't know, but answered like her counsellor always told her too, "My name is Charlotte, but please call me Charlie."_

_That's what the counsellor said would help. By telling other people her name, she'd get used to people knowing it, and, given time, she'd get used to people saying it. The girl seriously doubted this, but maybe it would work. It had taken a lot of time for her to agree to do that willingly (sort of), because forcing people to do things isn't good. Apparently. _

"_But why, dear?" The old woman twinkled at her questionably, "Charlotte is such a lovely name; I don't know why you would shorten it…"_

"_Just Charlie, please," The girl forced a smile back onto her face, just like her counsellor told her to do if people pushed it, trying not to make it too tight-lipped, as her counsellor said it was too rude. And to try not to be rude at all if she could help it. She never did try too hard on that instruction. _

"_Oh, alright dear," twinkled the old woman, seemingly oblivious to the girl internal struggle, "And how old are you?"_

"_Nine," said the girl, then she added, "And a half."_

_The old woman sighed as she turned to the old wooden counter, presumably to make another cup of tea for herself, "Sometimes I think children grow up too fast…"_

_After a bit of small talk and several cups of tea, the man checked his watch (the one that the girl had repaired) to find that it was time for him to go. This was why five minutes later found the man and girl standing in front of the car, trying desperately to find words that meant enough for them to say. Everything came into their minds seemed not important enough for them to put their thought into words. _

_Eventually, the girl spoke, in a voice not much louder than a whisper, "Please don't go, Daddy."_

_The man sighed, picking the girl up from the ground and holding her like he used to when she was small, "You know I have to, Charlie-Bear."_

"_Please, please, don't…" The girl started crying in his shoulder, and he buried his face into the top of her head to stop the tears from spilling. It broke his heart – no, it did more than that; it ripped out his heart, cut it into tiny pieces, ran over it repeatedly with a truck and then burned it on a stake – to leave her, especially like this. But he had to…still, how long had it been since she had called him Daddy…_

"_Why are you so scared now, you've seen me go before…" As soon as the words left his mouth the reason hit him like the truck running over his heart, and he wished he'd never said it. The girl choked on her own sobs, and tried to answer him, which made him want to throw himself under said truck. _

"_Y-Yes, but – but that w-was before…b-before…" The girl didn't need to finish her sentence, so the man shushed her soothingly to let her know she could stop if she wanted to. But the girl blundered on, "I j-just don't want you to…what if you…"_

What if you leave me too?

_The message was plain and clear, and the man gasped; that truck just wouldn't stop driving, would it? Taking a huge gulp of air to get his wild emotions under control, the man lifted his head up, "Charlotte Marie Bennett."_

_The girl looked up, and for the first time in a long while she didn't look angry that her name had been spoken; whether it was her feelings, his serious voice or the tears making their way down both of their faces, but she didn't react other than to listen. The man took another deep breath, and started again, _

"_Look, you know I can't promise you that I won't be in danger in the army, and I can't promise anything like that when I'm not certain I can keep it. Wait, wait," The man said quickly, for the girl's bottom lip began to tremble, "But I can promise you something; I solemnly swear that I will fight to my last breath to keep coming home. Okay, Charlie-Bear?"_

_The man lifted the girl's chin up so her head was held high; after a second the girl nodded, tears still falling but she had a better control on her emotions. The man's face broke out into a proud, watery grin, "That's my girl. You're a brave little warrior, you know that? I've known it from the first time I ever held you in my arms, and I haven't changed my mind since. You have fun here, make some friends, have an adventure, do anything...Because you know what?"_

_The girl shook her head, and the man lowered his voice to a whisper, "I know you can fix it, fix it all; and you will, mark my words, become the Queen's Fixer."_

* * *

Charlie closed the photo album with a shuddering breath. She had been so lost in memories that she hadn't realised she was crying until she had closed the damn crying machine. For a while she just sat there on her near-broken chair by her near-broken desk and gave near-broken sobs into her hands.

It was a long while before they subsided. Once that had, she just sat there, staring at nothing in particular, seemingly in a daze, but in reality her mind was racing. It's not that she hated Devon, well, she did but it wasn't because she hated the place, it was just too…well, too perfect.

Nothing to fix. And Charlie lived off of fixing, making, building, but every time she thought of something to make, it turns out it's already there, new and perfect. The children were too happy, the teens were too well behaved, the adults were too relaxed; it wasn't natural. It was horrible…except her room. Everything in her room was old, musty or near-broken.

Charlie gave a short, bitter laugh that was most unfitting for a ten-and-a-half year old. That was she, wasn't it? Near-broken, just like everything else in her life. That was probably why she worked so hard to repair everything, why it was necessary for her existence to fix and make; if she can't fix herself, she might as well fix everything else.

Almost everything else. She never thought of messing with her photo album, or her tool kit (or 'fixing set' as she called it), they were just too precious and raw to try and fix, they were bits of her, really. So, the photo album would remain wore and falling out of it's bindings, and the fixing set would remain colour-faded and slightly rusty. And so they always would.

0:57am – the repaired clock read.

Heaving a sigh, Charlie got up on her small feet, and padded out into the hallway. She might as well go to the bathroom while she was up. She shuffled quietly past the stairs, taking extra care when passing her Aunt's room. She liked her Aunt, she really did, she was nice, and it was great to have another female organic life form to live with, however old she was, but she just wasn't…she just wasn't…

_She just isn't Mum_, Charlie finished her train of thought. Finally reaching the bathroom, she did her business and while washing her hands, she looked up into the rusty old mirror placed above the sink. A girl of ten-and-a-half with dark blue bags under her eyes stared back.

She had bluish-green eyes that seemed to be forever changing, but as of now they were bloodshot and looked almost feverish. Her face was grubby and she had a dirt-smudge on the side of her nose that just didn't seem to want to leave, not that she'd tried very hard.

Charlie ran a hand through her hair and watched the girl in the mirror do the same. Her hair was a sandy-brown colour, and, more or less, uncontrollable. Sticking up in all the wrong directions (lying in bed for hours didn't help), the untameable locks just wouldn't go where she, or anyone really, wanted them too.

Over her short lifetime, Charlie had heard the sentence 'You look so much like your father' more times than she could dream to count, or even remember. But over the past few years (since she was seven-and-a-half to be exact) she had been desperately trying to find something she had from her mother, and she wasn't totally unfortunate.

Charlie's Dad was born in Italy, even though he spent most of his life in England, so that made Charlie half-Italian. That might have helped the fact that both her and her father looked like typical Romans.

Minus the messy hair, Charlie's Dad, David, could have easily fitted in. He had brown hair and olive skin, a long nose, dark brown eyes and was rather tall. He was good-looking, that Charlie could acknowledge but she hoped no other girl would notice it too, and his training in the army gave him muscles he wouldn't otherwise have.

Charlie looked extraordinarily like her father.

She had the same extraordinary all-over-the-place hair, the same extraordinarily similar olive skin, the same lips, ears, face shape, almost everything. People seemed to find that the appropriate way to start a conversation at parties was to comment on the almost-scary resemblance.

Neither of her parents was as scrawny or as short as she was, especially her mother, who was as tall as beautiful as Charlie could only dream to be. It wasn't like she had never dreamed of being like her mother, in fact, she had done more.

Ever since the death of Charlie's mother, Marie, Charlie had been trying to find something that connected her to her, even though she wasn't there. It was almost like she was trying to find some reassurance that she had actually existed, that she truly was her daughter even though she was gone. Charlie knew that her mother had existed, and she wasn't just all her imagination, but that didn't stop her.

The most obvious factor was the eyes, like the ocean, with were an exact replica of the late woman's, and the part of her face that Charlie treasured most. Those were her mother's eyes, and she didn't mind people talking about her mum when she was being compared to her. She had inherited her nose, which made her look a little less Roman, and maybe her forehead…perhaps her eyebrows.

Not very noticeable stuff, but when one looks for it, it becomes quite apparent. Charlie stared at her appearance. She looked awful. Sighing, she decided that she couldn't be bothered to try and fix her appearance, and shuffled silently from the room.

This is where the story begins.

Charlie Bennett had just been making her way been toward 'her' room…when it happened. Rubbing her eyes with one hand, using the other the reach out and turn the doorknob, Charlie prepared herself to lie back down for another three hours, she'd have to d-

A gust of wind hit her back, sending a shiver down her spine.

Charlie spun around on her heels, her tired eyes snapped open wide, and she froze. What was that? No, she knew what it was; it was a sharp, cold wind, and it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. What she should be asking was why was it there, how was it there, and where was it coming from.

For a second, Charlie just stood there, arms out wide and crouching slightly, frozen on her feet with only her eyes moving, scanning the dusty hallway. It was as if she was trying to locate the wind using only her eyes, but in reality she was using her wide spread body to try and catch another breeze on her body.

It could have been seconds, or maybe minutes, but all Charlie acknowledged was the musty wind-free air around her and the shallow breathing in her chest. Slowly, very slowly, Charlie moved back in a normal standing position, her eyes still trying to X-Ray the spider-webbed, disgustingly coloured walls.

Did she imagine it? Maybe she had…She probably had... I mean, she was indoors, and her Great Aunt Agatha was a little too paranoid for someone who lived in Devon, so there was no windows open. And it was late, and she was tired so she probably just imagined it. Besides, she needed to get back into bed before she felt too awake, that way she wouldn't be able to –

Charlie Bennett got blasted in the face with a massive blow of wind, this time bringing with it a sprinkling of snow.

There was no mistaking it now. Not now that she was shivering all over, and there was ice specked all over the landing. She also knew exactly where it had come from. The stairs…Charlie had to check it out, this was strange and this was distracting…and also the most interesting thing to happen to her since September. And that fact played a very small factor in why she went. Obviously.

Moving forward warily, Charlie peeked down the stairs. They were covered in ice patches, and seemed about fifteen degrees colder than the rest of the house. Weird…she was still going to go though, nothing was going to stop her from entertaining herself, one way or another. So, with that in her now wide-awake mind (somewhere in there, her subconscious was triumphant), she firmly place her foot onto the next step down.

Left. Right. Left. Right. Carefully avoiding frozen patches (that looked like Jack Frost had tap danced to the landing above just for the fun of it), Charlie creped downstairs, wobbling slightly with every other step, both from trying to keep quiet and her balance. The last couple of steps were coated in frost, so Charlie gave one huge leap and landed on the floor with as much agility as a toddler.

Groaning slightly, Charlie got up from the uncomfortable position she had landed in, and looked around for the source of the wind. As there was a wall on both sides, to get to the living room you needed to turn when you got to the end of the wall; as there was no door, the room was open to you when you stood in the doorway.

Charlie peeked around the wall…and promptly gasped. What she was facing was not a living room; it was another set of stairs. The only other problem was that there was no other set of stairs in the house, there was an upstairs and a downstairs, but there was no middle floor.

Charlie's insides seemed nonexistence other than her heart, which was pumping blood in her ears so fast; it was hard to keep track on the separate beats. What the hell was happening? Mysterious winds? Strange ice patches? And now…

She was desperately trying to get her fear under control, taking deep steadying breathes and being unsure whether to regret looking for trouble or not. Of course, if it was just another set of stairs, Charlie might have been able to deal with it. But the thing was, only a few of the top steps were visible, and the rest of the way was pitch black, making them look like they were a Stairway to Hell.

After a minute of staring with wide eyes, and near hyperventilating, Charlie managed to get her panic to simmer down. After another minute of slow breathing and clear thinking, she was able to come up with four options on what to do:

She could do the sensible thing – go and call the police on this, and make this the most interesting thing that had happened to them since September.

She could do another sensible thing – go and get her Great Aunt Agatha, or run around and scream for the neighbours, making this the most interesting thing that had happened to them since September.

She could do the easy thing – just go back to bed, forget this (the most interesting thing that had happened to her since September) and hope that in the morning everything will be back to normal.

Or…she could do what the tugging in her chest was telling her to do – walk down the Stairway of Hell, and make this the most memorable thing that will happen to her from last September to the next.

What should she do…I mean, technically this had nothing to do with her...but on the other hand, Charlie was pretty sure that the Stairway to Hell never appeared before, and wouldn't do it again for a unpredictable amount of time. How many other times would she get this chance? And even if it was dangerous, did she even want to find someone 'older' and more 'responsible' to fix things for the Queen's Fixer?

Charlie had hated it when someone tried to fill her mother's shoes and tell her what to do and how to do it. She could do it on her own, thank you very much, but nobody other than her Mum, and maybe her Dad, had ever given her a chance to. If she called the police, the neighbours, or even Great Aunt Agatha, they would act like they knew way more than she did, even though she was the one that had the wind blow in her face in the first place!

A surge of childish rebellion, stubbornness and defensiveness coursed through her body, from her head to her toes, making her feel like doing something outrageously risky just to show the people of the world that she could fix things on her own. It was just lucky and completely coincidental that something along those lines was only a few inches away.

If Charlie was going to do it, she had to do it now.

Honestly, as I'm the one that's telling the story, I can see all the flaws in this brilliant plan of Charlie's; the ones that she is determinately ignoring. A few of which I can give examples for: What if it really was something dangerous that she was just going to walk into? What actually caused those ice patches, and what if it was sinister? What if those stairs actually was the Stairway to Hell?

But, of course, ten-and-a-half-year-old Charlie Bennett was young and naïve, not to mention way too defiant for her own good. So, lets not judge her too harshly for this particular act of stupidity…actually, if she didn't act a little like an idiot, we wouldn't have this story, so maybe we should thank her…but anyway…

Tentatively, Charlie stepped forward and placed her small foot on the first step down, wincing slightly, almost as if she was expecting the step to collapse under her weight, however skinny she was. The floorboard only creaked slightly, and, wiggling her freezing toes, she took that as prompt to carry on.

Slowly, she made her way down the Stairway of He – well, the stairway. Her feet were hesitant and light, as she tried to put as little weight as physically possible on the steps. Charlie had just reached the fourth step down, when she encountered a problem. The pitch-blackness started only inches from her face. It wasn't a gradual darkness like most were, it was like someone had chopped off the light in the stairway in one clean sweep, making sure that Charlie couldn't see anything beyond the fourth step.

Charlie lifted her left foot, and, quick as a flash, she adventurously poked her toes in the blackness, and out again less than second afterwards. That, Charlie decided, was both impulsive and stupid. What might have happened if something was in there?

But, the sly voice in the back of her head spoke up, nothing did happen, did it? 'What might have happened'…well, it didn't, so what should make her think something might happen if she did it again?

Slowly, Charlie Bennett lowered her whole left foot into the wall of darkness, and hissed through her teeth in alarm when it turned invisible in the blackness. She moved it back out. It was visible in the light of the full moon shinning through the window behind her. She moved it back in, this time a little more eager and confident. It disappeared into the darkness.

Something inside of Charlie seemed to erupt in both excitement and nerves. She both wanted to go sprinting down the stairs and running back to 'her' room and dive under her bedcovers, through she doubted she'd ever fall asleep now, not for the next few weeks at least. During this internal struggle, her left foot had fallen lower and lower until it hit the fifth step.

Charlie gave a yelp like she had been given an electric shock, and looked down at her foot. Her whole shin had disappeared into the blackness now, and it was like some kind of decision had been confirmed. She would carry on. Slowly, her hands trembling, she placed them on the walls on either side of her to help keep her balance, took a deep breath, looking at the wall of darkness with a mixture of excitement and apprehension…

"Down the rabbit hole, and through the looking glass, Alice," Charlie murmured to herself under her breath, her chest swelling in anticipation.

…and she stepped in.

The first thing Charlie acknowledged was that it was very, very dark. It was literally like being thrown into a black hole, or so Charlie thought, without the crushing and instant death. She looked to the side and saw that she couldn't see her hand, even though she could definitely feel it pressed against the wall. She was willing to bet money (that she didn't have) that she had never been in a place so dark in her entire life.

Slowly, after waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness (which they did, but it didn't help her see anything), Charlie started to shuffle down the stairway. This was more of a job than she had expected, though her nervousness wasn't helping in slightest. She would dip her foot down to feel around for the next step before standing on it, wincing slightly, like she was expected it to just disintegrate under her toes.

This would go on for every step down, making Charlie feel like she had been moving for hours, and she wondered vaguely if she would have been asleep by now if not for this. Every step she took, she would push her hands harder against the wall, like she needed more and more reassurance that something solid and firm was there to catch her if she fell.

It was a long way down, and a long time after Charlie had lost count of how many steps there had been, when all the flaws (a few of which I pointed out a few paragraphs ago) of this little plan hit her in the face like the 'heart-truck' from earlier. She grit her teeth and breathed in sharply, frozen in shock, and if one could see her in the darkness, they would see her with an expression like when an adult did something so incredibly stupid, and they couldn't quite believe what they had done.

Before she could make any sort of decision (hit herself in the face, turn back, or continue like the idiot she just realised she was), something else made it for her.

There was a light. A light not far from where Charlie was having this little internal crisis, and it was so very interesting and welcoming, that it made Charlie realise how little she was liking the darkness. To her dismay, she felt a little bubble of curiosity and relief burst in her stomach.

Well, the sly voice in the back of her head said, that sounded suspiciously like that boy at school that once dared her to eat the sand in the sandbox, and that always sat at a desk of his own because he would distract the other students, you've come this far, why not finish the job? The rest of her brain was screaming at that voice to shut up, while her heart was screaming in agreement.

Her feet, apparently, agreed with her heart and the sly voice.

Without her wholehearted consent, her legs had started to move, and (much faster and more impulsive than the whole of the journey down the Stairway of Hell so far) she started to walk down towards the light. Closer and closer, Charlie walked quickly towards the brightness, her stubborn and curious traits shining through, outweighing all sense of caution.

Something inside of her seemed to swell like a balloon, and her brain seemed to cloud over in her eagerness and need to get to whatever that light was. It was like a pull in her chest; that light was safe, it was secure, it was…it was home. Charlie knew, somehow, that she was meant to be where that light was. It was an echo of the feeling she used to get when with her mother.

It was that, most likely, that made Charlie stumble toward the light. People always said that when one died, they 'saw the light' or something. Maybe this was that; maybe she had died somehow. It could be, and she should feel sad, or even scared…what about her Dad? He didn't have anyone else, he'd be alone, and really, she did like Great Aunt Agatha… But that really wasn't in her mind right now. All she felt, was that building feeling of hope rising, swelling in her scrawny little chest.

_Mum, Mum, Mum, Mum, Mum…_

Charlie was now moving as fast as she could down the steps without tripping, never taking her childlike, hopeful, eager eyes off of the ever-growing light. She didn't care if she was running down the Stairway of Hell; she didn't care if the Wall of Darkness really was somehow a black hole and the whole 'crushing and instant death' thing actually happened; all she cared about was getting to that light.

_Mum, Mum, Mum, Mum, Mum…_

She didn't notice how the floorboards under her feet where becoming more and more uneven…almost like the branches of a tree. She didn't mind on the fact that it was growing colder and colder, and a sharp wind was beginning to whip around her steadily reddening cheeks.

_Mum, Mum, Mum, Mum, Mum…_

She was centimetres from the light, it was there, all she had to do was run through…and the walls she was holding with her hands disappeared. She noticed. Apparently, they were all that was keeping her in balance, for the moment they were gone, Charlie tumbled into the light, the momentum of the run and loss of balance too much for her feet.

And Charlie Bennett was falling.

Down and down, she fell, the wind whistling in her ears, tumbling. Her face, arms, legs, all of her body that was exposed to the outside world was being hit and scratched from all angles by what felt like wood and prickles. Down, down, down, all sense of direction in Charlie had vanished to nothing as she fell, down, down, down and…

_FLUMP!_

Charlie opened her eyes, and promptly let out a groan of pain. The whole of her body was aching, and covered in scratches, cuts and bruises, like she'd been attack by a particularly angry cat. It didn't seem like anything had broken, or that she was seriously injured, but she still didn't like the little specks of her blood that pinpricked the snow.

…The snow?

Charlie looked around with blurred, dizzy vision. That's right, was she…was she sitting in a bank of…snow? It made sense as to way she wasn't dead (well, she was dead already, wasn't she, so it didn't matter anyhow…) right now, as well as the fact that she was bloody freezing. Wait, if she was dead…then why was she hurt? How did she even die in the first place? How…

"Hello? Erm, who are you? Are – Are you alright?"

"…Mum?"


End file.
